


Five Times The Smell Of Cloves Nearly Killed Vimes

by kamelientee



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-23 19:41:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1577204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kamelientee/pseuds/kamelientee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Vimes has had a couple of near-death experiences involving cloves.</p>
<p>(reposted from ff.net)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times The Smell Of Cloves Nearly Killed Vimes

**1.**

Young Sam Vimes always loved to run errands for his mother, especially when she entrusted him with money. He knew for a fact that there were only two other boys in his class who enjoyed the same privilege of having a mother who trusted them.

Young Sam happily ran through the streets that were so crowded with people, animals and other … things (he placed great emphasis on those other things because they fairly outnumbered the people and the animals) and only once stopped to be scolded by a man who thought a boy of Young Sam's age always needed scolding.

He eventually reached the small shop run by a distant cousin of his mother's who knew him well enough to at least always tell him he got discounts there because he was family.

Sam did not particularly like the shop, as it always smelled curiously, but thinking of how proud his mother would be if he came home again quickly, he entered nevertheless.

And promptly bolted out again.

It had never smelled like that anywhere Young Sam had been before.

Frankly, he thought bathing (well… burying yourself) in the Ankh was a nicer way to die than entering this shop again and so he went to buy the potatoes elsewhere.

**2.**

Since he had joined the Night Watch, Vimes had hardly ever seen anything of Ankh-Morpork in broad daylight.

Today, however, was different.

There was the smell, the great amount of people, there were the voiced and yes, there was the sun. From all this, Vimes' sleepy brain deduced that this must be Ankh-Morpork in broad daylight. Maybe that was why Vimes wished the sun would hurry up a bit or would at least disappear behind a benevolent cloud.

Nothing helped, though. One thing even contributed to the general annoyance of Ankh-Morpork in broad daylight: Vimes was headed for the spice market.

Not that he particularly wished to go there, oh no. He took a hearty dislike in spices ever since he once nearly had suffered an instant death by suffocating when he had been twelve. (Cloves. He had only learned what smell it was after his mother had visited her distant cousin as well and had nearly befallen the same fate.)

So today, Vimes tried to be extraordinarily careful not to breathe too deeply or to inhale anything at all.

But all it took was an overly motivated merchant, a hand full of cloves and Vimes' sudden need for air.

He departed from the market with even greater speed than from the shop a few years before.

**3.**

Captain Vimes had never really doubted that this could happen. He had always thought it possible, if not probable, that one day he would stumble upon something like this.

And alcohol was not nearly strong enough to make it better. Surely nothing was.

Anyway, there was this fellow and, as Nobby had put it, he couldn't be deader, Captain.

Normally that was enough to make Vimes uneasy. It happened all the time, of course – people dying and these things –, but seldom someone was dumb enough to actually call the Night Watch.

Now that Vimes thought about it – seldom was the Night Watch dumb enough to actually follow the call.

But here they were now, Nobby, Fred and Ol' Sam Vimes, uneasily trotting around a corpse, murmuring curses and desperately trying not to breathe all too much.

Sam Vimes had always thought that this probably was the worst death a single person had to fear. He had never doubted it. Never. Not ever.

And as a proof, here he was, trotting around a corpse and trying not to breathe in fear of also being killed by the unnaturally strong stink of cloves in the room.

**4.**

There, now, that might as well be his end. He had eaten nothing and drunk nothing for the better part of the day, much less concentrated on the daily paperwork he had to do.

Although he very badly wanted to, Commander Vimes decided against cursing one of the Gods for the pains he had to bear. Once again, it was very hard to remain in your daily routine when in a rage a god had killed you because you had called him a mother- bastard.

Instead, Vimes settled upon cursing himself, the city, the Watch, his wife and the world in general (which, of course, exclude any whatsoever divine existence that might feel included in this).

Now, it did not hurt quite as much when you stopped thinking about it. Or did it?

Vimes sighed (which, by the way, hurt as well).

This very moment was chosen by Captain Carrot to, not without knocking first, enter Vimes' office.

Vimes himself chose not to speak (because, in case you had not noticed, that also hurt), but instead cast a questioning glance at young Carrot.

"I have brought something for you, sir." He handed Vimes a small package. "That is what my mother always gave me when I had a toothache."

Vimes did not need to open the package. The faint smell was enough to let him guess its contents. He wasted no time before throwing it out of his window.

**5.**

"Offendi."

There he was again. That strange man who had vanished into the Klatchian desert – how many? – years ago. Standing right there in Vimes' office, smiling his 24-carat smile and once again chewing on one of Vimes' death fantasies.

"Don't play that foreigner business with me. I know you too well, Ahmed."

Ahmed's grin broadened. "You told me to come here first when we last met."

"Only because I don't want you and your pretty little sword to run around in my city. You could easily have given your weapons to one of the officers below", Vimes reminded him.

"Come on, your grace. Is it really so difficult to believe I wanted to meet you again?"

Ahmed stepped forward, pulled out numerous ominous instruments from various parts of his clothing and placed them on Vimes' desk.

"You will excuse my keeping some items. Just in case", he added after noticing how Vimes eyed him suspiciously. Vimes, in return, rose, but before he could speak the smell of cloves was breathed into his face with the words "In Klatch, we kiss old friends for a welcome", followed by that exact action.

Perhaps dying of the smell of cloves was not so bad after all.


End file.
